TOTD 10: The Brotherhood's Tale
by robinwitch1
Summary: Tales of the Dragonborn, 10. The Synod researcher makes an unexpected side trip and some new friends, and learns many interesting things about the Dragonborn and himself, as well as renewing his respect for Serana's foresight in warning him of the dangers of his project. (Part 2 of a single narrative, continuing on from "The Necromancer's Tale.")


The Brotherhood's Tale

It had been quite a few years since I last found myself waking up in a strange bed with no memory of how I had gotten there, but as soon as I opened my eyes the morning after my dinner with Invictus, it was clear that I was no longer in my room at the Frozen Hearth. My first thought was that I must have gotten drunk and started a fight, and been thrown into prison. But Winterhold has never had a dungeon prison; the city guard is notorious for using in its place an ice cave nicknamed "The Chill." Besides, wherever this was, it was far cleaner and better-smelling than the average prison. Not better lit, though; the only lamp, set into the stone wall behind glass, illuminated little more than a patch of the facing wall. There were no windows, only a rectangular iron grating high in one of the walls, presumably for ventilation.

The door was heavy wood, reinforced with iron. And locked.

So. It was obvious that what happened next would be entirely out of my hands. I went back to the cot and lay down again, since there were no chairs in the small room, only a couple of benches. Perhaps I would have time for a bit more sleep, I thought, since I was still tired and fuzzy-headed from whatever I had ingested. I might be needing all the strength I could muster in the near future. There was little need to waste time wondering what had happened. Someone had been paying attention after all. I was a guest of the Dark Brotherhood, and would remain so until they decided otherwise.

-o-o-o-

After an hour or so, as far as I could tell, there was a soft knock at the door, which then opened, smoothly and silently. I noted with brief amusement that the Brotherhood seemed to be avoiding the rattle-and-squeak theatrics all too often featured in other dungeons. They evidently felt cheap and tawdry special effects would detract from the main performance.

I sat up, and a member of the Brotherhood entered the cell, to wait patiently for me to stand up and sort myself out. I took my time over this, to give me an opportunity to unobtrusively examine my captor. She was a young woman, fairly tall and too sturdily built to be one of the elven races, almost certainly an Imperial like myself, wearing Dark Brotherhood shrouded armor, which conceals the details of everything but the eyes. Since one of the tricks we have been taught for field work is identifying a face from the eyes alone, this was not as foolproof in hiding her identity as she probably assumed. Nevertheless, the fact that she was trying to remain concealed was a positive sign: it implied that I was to be kept alive and thus could not be allowed to learn too much about this hideout and its residents.

I followed my captor down several hallways lined with closed wooden doors. We met no-one else, and the only sounds were our footsteps. The lighting was not much better than it had been in my cell, but it was bright enough to show that the structure must be fairly new, or very well-kept, in comparison to most of the other subterranean constructions in Skyrim. The stonework and wood trimming were immaculate. There were no tree roots reaching down from the ceiling, no cobwebs, no buckled and bulging walls, no collapsed sections or tilted floors, no puddles of water, no mushrooms sprouting from cracks in the floor. No cracks in the floor, for that matter. The Brotherhood, which had nearly gone extinct in the time of the Dragonborn, seemed to be doing very well for itself, I thought.

Our walk ended at another wooden door, which my escort opened for me. She stepped to the side to let me pass, but the room beyond this door was much larger and better lit than anything I had encountered so far. Blinking and dazzled, I promptly collided with the back of a chair. My escort then took my arm and guided me to my seat. By the time I had settled myself into it, my eyes had adjusted to the light, and so I looked up to see what, or who, was in store for me.

I found I was sitting at a long wooden table, the type often used at banquets and large gatherings. Across from me were no less than seven Brotherhood members, all in the same type of shrouded armor that my guide had worn. We looked each other over in silence for a long moment, and then I noticed something interesting about the group.

"It's been a _very_ long time since I have seen Altmer, Bosmer, Khajiit, Breton, and Nord happy to rub elbows at the same table," I began. "Did you do that on purpose to demonstrate how diverse your organization is, or did it just happen by chance?"

The group facing me exchanged startled glances, and one whom I had tentatively identified as a Nord male, sitting on the far left, began to laugh out loud and shake his head. The only duplicates among the seven were two Bretons and two Bosmer. One of the Bosmer, a woman who sat at the center of the group and seemed to have some position of leadership, responded to my question.

"Entirely unintended, scribe, or we would have tried to fit all the rest of the races in as well. I think the table is long enough, and certainly we would have little trouble finding orcs, Imperials, and all the rest. You have sharp eyes to notice such a thing so quickly. The secret organizations, the Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, may soon be the last places in Tamriel where your race means nothing, and only your accomplishments count."

I nodded in acknowledgment and added,

"Men and mer stand on an equal footing with the Volkihar vampire clan as well, though there has never been more than a handful of Khajiit or Argonians associated with that group. I doubt if there is any racial feeling against them, though."

"Nothing personal, I've been told," the Khajiit sitting across from me said. "It's just that the vampires don't want to be bothered with picking hairs out of their teeth after every meal," and everyone laughed.

There was a short silence, and then I began to talk again. I may have been a prisoner, but my captors were letting me take the initiative in our conversation, and I intended to keep it that way. First things first: the Dragonborn blade.

"I'm presuming that you have the dagger, and that you intend to keep it," I said. "For... professional occasions, I expect. It made me nervous, partly because of the spectacular way that Ignatus demonstrated its powers, and partly because...well, he had mentioned your interest. One of the reasons that he insisted I take it was his fear that he would come to a bad end if it remained in his possession."

The Bosmer woman snorted in derision and shook her head.

"Did he cut _another_ hole in his arm for you? He's a bit given to drama. More than a bit. We've known for a long time that he had the dagger. There was never any contract out for him and there wouldn't be for something like this. We were content to wait."

"Besides," she added, "that Mara shrine strongbox he used to store the dagger is equipped with an exceptionally good lock, and the box itself is almost too heavy to move. Without his cooperation, getting into it seemed overly difficult. Whereas you presented a soft target and the extra advantage that we might be able to share some information relevant to the research project you're engaged in. The Dragonborn is central to the history of the Brotherhood, but I doubt if that part of her life gets the attention that it deserves."

I nodded. It was indeed a neglected topic, both from reluctance to admit to the connections between the Dragonborn and the secret organizations, and from lack of solid evidence. She had never said much about it, and those she had worked with had not confided in others or written memoirs available to the public, for obvious reasons.

"The project has never been a secret, though only a few people have been interested in learning the details. And you are quite right – most accounts of the Dragonborn do no more than mention her connection with the Brotherhood. The only people who talk about it much are her enemies, who weave fantasies around it to try to blacken her name."

"You probably know quite a bit already about our history and what role the Dragonborn played in it," the Bosmer began. "How the Brotherhood was down to three members after the failed first attempt to assassinate the Emperor, and that one of these three was the Dragonborn. We had been betrayed and attacked by the Emperor's security force, the Penitus Oculatus. Our last stronghold, in southern Skyrim, had been destroyed. And then the Dragonborn fulfilled the most significant contract the Brotherhood had had in generations, and we began to recover and rebuild, at first under her direct guidance as Listener, until she gave up the post to another who could devote his full time to its duties. Nevertheless, her influence never really ceased. She was in constant contact with our members right up to the time of her death, and the Brotherhood sent representatives to her funeral, though naturally they did not identify themselves as such to any but her partner Shahvee."

This was an opportunity that I had always hoped for, without much expectation that it would ever occur – the Brotherhood reminiscing about the good old days when the Dragonborn had been in charge. And as part of that, they seemed to be confirming that the Dragonborn had been personally responsible for the assassination of Emperor Titus Mede II aboard his ship _The Katariah_ when it was anchored off Solitude. This was one of the most contested points in her biography. She had never openly admitted to that deed, and so most friendly accounts assumed someone else had been responsible. The main problem was that there were only two other candidates, the Redguard Nazir and the young Breton vampire Babette, and neither seemed very plausible. Like most students of the Dragonborn, I had always suspected that Nazir had been the assassin, since whoever had done it had also gone to great pains to steal the enchanted scimitar Windshear from the end of the _Katariah_'s bowsprit, and Redguards were notoriously fond of scimitars. A shallow argument, to be sure, but it was the best anyone had been able to do up to now, since there are no eyewitness accounts – none of the crew of _The Katariah_ survived.

"You seem to be trying to analyze her, to define what her qualities were," the Bosmer continued. "We've heard from Cyrodiil that there are rumors of a new Dragonborn, now or in the near future. Are you trying to find clues to help predict the coming of this new Dragonborn? Or identify her, so that you don't try to cut her head off by mistake, the way you greeted her last time?"

"The rumors," I responded, "are circulating mostly among the commoners in central and southern Cyrodiil. They began seven or eight years ago, exactly where and when, we have not been able to discover. Some of them announce that a new Dragonborn is coming; others claim that it will be the last Dragonborn returning. Some say it will be in Cyrodiil, and others in Skyrim, or elsewhere. We don't have any real indication that any of this is correct, but we want to be prepared. Beyond that, we'd like to know what the appearance and spread of these rumors might mean. There are those at the Imperial court who say the story has been planted as part of an attempt to usurp the Throne – that some pretender will present himself or herself as the new Tiber Septim when the time is right. There are others that are convinced the return will be real, but the new Dragonborn, like the last one, will support the Empire. They're not going to be very happy when they hear that the last Dragonborn not only fought for the Empire but assassinated the Emperor as well. To be honest, I'm having some difficulty with it as well. Just one more contradiction in a very complex character."

The Altmer sitting directly to the left of the woman I had been talking with then began to speak. I guessed she might be an archivist of some kind, or at least interested in the past – she spoke with deliberate precision, as if she were reading from some reference work to a roomful of restless children.

"The contradiction, in this case, is only apparent. Titus Mede II had reached the fated end of his life – he told the Dragonborn as much, when the two of them confronted each other – and so his death cannot correctly be characterized as an assassination. We opened the door to the Void for him, but we did not push him through it. The Imperial line in Cyrodiil has always had this gift from the Dread Lord, to foresee the time and place of their own ends, though there are no records to show why He granted them such a boon. This means that we cannot deduce anything about the attitude of the Dragonborn to imperial rule from her having been the instrument of the emperor's death. In this, she was merely a servant of Sithis, as is every member of the Brotherhood, and she carried out her duties to the letter, as she always did."

"When the Dragonborn re-established the Brotherhood," the Altmer continued, "she revived most of its old customs, but added ideas of her own as well. We see in this as well the will of Sithis. For instance, she introduced several restrictions inspired by the practice of the Thieves' Guild, and these are now part of our basic code. For instance, we no longer accept contracts on children or the very old, unless there are exceptional circumstances in the case of the latter. We are also forbidden to target the poor and the powerless, just as the Guild is banned from robbing beggars. There are rare exceptions to this rule as well, but the days when the rich could use the Brotherhood as a sort of broom to sweep inconvenient indigents from the roadside are over.

"The Dragonborn saw the Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild as essential parts of society, preventing it from becoming rigidly static, inciting disorder and creating new possibilities. The Brotherhood disrupts the human order; the Thieves' Guild redistributes material wealth. Both introduce motion where there might instead be a stifling stagnation. And in truth, as most of us do, the Dragonborn believed that those named by the Night Mother have reached the destined ends of their lives, and we merely implement what has already been decided, rather than pass judgment on our own account."

I nodded. "Much the same attitude as she had toward the vampire race. The same willingness to look upon things that others considered abominations and see the role they played, or could play, in the universal order. But you said she added something of her own to the Brotherhood's tenets. If you can tell me what it was, I would very much like to hear."

The Bosmer woman hesitated, glancing to her left and right as if unsure how the group would react to this request. Evidently reassured by the absence of open objection, she began.

"You know, of course, of the Dread Lord, Sithis, ruler of the Void. You will have read the book that carries His name and circulates in the world. Here we are taught that Sithis, not Mehrunes Dagon, is the true Lord of Change: _Sithis sundered the nothing and mutated the parts, fashioning from them a myriad of possibilities. These ideas ebbed and flowed and faded away and this is how it should have been._ This has always been accepted.

"During the time that she personally led the Brotherhood, the Dragonborn was inspired by Sithis to a comprehensive systematization of our ancient doctrines. What the Dragonborn particularly emphasized here is that as well as being Lord of Change, Sithis should also be venerated as Lord of Unity, the One Lord who will remain at the end of time, by virtue of the omnipresence of death. All living things die. Even those that are immune to the ravages of age and time, such as vampires and dragons, even the Aedra can die by violence or accident or choice. And at death, the Dread Lord accepts them all into his care, some sooner and some later, but all equal, without a single one being rejected or excluded."

She paused long enough for me to ask a question.

"What of the Daedric realms, then? Coldharbor and Moonshadow and Apocrypha and all the rest? Some souls go there. And some go to planes of existence ruled by still other powers, such as the ones in the Soul Cairn, and those that the Dragonborn met and conversed with in Sovngarde. What of them?"

"They too will become subjects of the Dread Lord when He gathers all at the end of time. Their coming is delayed, made less direct by the good or bad consequences of their actions while living, but it can never be prevented."

It was, to say the least, a very comprehensive system. But I could see one major objection: What of the daedra? A daedra that "died" lost only its physical form; its soul wandered in the Darkness for a greater or lesser time, and then reconstituted itself in bodily form, rather than "passing on" to the realm of death. Moreover, there was no Dragonborn for the daedra, no adversary that could prevent their endless evasion of true death by taking their souls or interrupting their automatic reincarnation. Where did the daedra fit in?

This time it was the Nord at the left side of the table who gave the explanation.

"The Dragonborn showed us that it is the daedra who are the true Exiles, since they insist on being so. In their absolute rejection of death, they set themselves apart from all other beings. This perversity lies at the root of their violence and unpredictability. We believe that at the end of time, before the world is made anew, the Daedric Princes will be given a choice: Accept death, submit to Sithis, and lead the souls in their realms to their true homes in His dominion, or attempt to resist and be deserted by their subjects, who will slip through their fingers like water when they feel the presence of the Dread Lord. Any that fail to yield even then will be exiled into the Darkness, with no chance of pardon until they repent and amend their ways. There is nothing that terrifies them more. Have you read the book _Spirit of the Daedra_?"

I shook my head. "No, not the whole book. It has been under proscription for centuries, and even the Imperial Library has been unable to acquire an intact copy. I've only seen excerpts in necromantic writings. I understand it claims to be written by one of the daedra, to explain the way they see human beings and the cosmos. Whether it is authentic or not, I have no idea."

He nodded at my words. "The Dragonborn thought it authentic enough to be a guide. Whether or not it was actually written by one of them, it seems to reflect their attitudes accurately. At one point, it admits _We feel pain, and fear it. We feel shame, and fear it. We feel loss, and fear it. We hate the Darkness, and fear it._ These are all powerful forces that the Dread Lord can use to convince the laggards among them to submit and return to Him. Fortunately for them, He is both patient and merciful.

"_Spirit of the Daedra_ ends with the lines _Man is mortal, and doomed to death and failure and loss. This lies beyond our comprehension - why do you not despair?_ When the daedra finally understand the answer to that question, the last resistance to our Lord will be overcome and all will return to true equality under His guiding hand. But equality elsewhere need not wait until then. The sooner it is brought about in the mortal world, the better."

"Without exception, these are all beliefs that the Brotherhood has held in one form or another for all of its existence," the Khajiit added. "But they were vague and disorganized, and members were unsure of what they implied. It was the Dragonborn who created a clear and systematic exposition of our ancient faith, so that now we clearly understand that we stand for the equality of the Ten Races under the banner of Sithis the Uniter, the Dread Lord."

"A position that I hold myself," I remarked, "though without the specific attachment to Sithis, that the Ten Races are One, divided only by features that are superficial and inessential. But the spirit of the age seems to be moving many mortals in quite the opposite direction."

"So much the worse for that deceiving spirit," the Khajiit said firmly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the others at the table. "All are equal in the sight of the Dread Lord. It is the age that must change."

So here was one more hat for the Dragonborn to wear: religious leader. The developer of a belief system that elevates Sithis to the head of the pantheon, making all under Him equal in death – equal _because of_ the shared experience of death and the universal impartiality of the Lord of Death. The emphasis on equality is a direct attack on the tribalism and racism that were becoming evident even in her time, and which have developed into much more malignant forms in the decades after her passing. It occurred to me that with such a relevant message, her system might prove attractive even beyond the ranks of the Brotherhood.

"The Night Mother has started to refuse contracts," the Bosmer woman in the middle added after a short silence. It took me a moment to connect this with what had been discussed previously.

"What kind of contracts?" I asked, though I was sure I could guess.

"Ones where the sole motivation for a killing is the race of the being to be killed," she replied. "Before, we did not concern ourselves about the reason such and such a being was our target. We simply dealt with the one marked down by Sithis and identified through the Night Mother and our Listener. Now, our Listener has told us, the Night Mother is warning him of contracts to be set aside, or even deliberately frustrated, not fulfilled. Ones where the Brotherhood has been asked to help realize someone's fantasies of racial purity. You can see how that would conflict with our basic beliefs and the true will of the Dread Lord."

"But I had thought..." I began hesitantly. "I had thought that once the sacrifice was made, if it was done correctly, a life was owed Sithis and would have to be paid, sooner or later."

The Bosmer woman replied in a sharp tone, "Sithis owes nothing and nothing is owed Sithis for what the Dread Lord will not abide. He is not such a fool as to be entrapped by formalities. And in any case..." I had the impression she had begun to smile even though the lower part of her face was concealed by her cowl, "If a life is judged necessary, there is always that of the impudent fellow who tried to use the ceremony for such an impious end. More than one of them has been rudely surprised to meet the fate that he or she had wished to inflict on others."

I nodded. "If the situation worsens, I will remember what you have said here today. Even in the Imperial Court, there are few who are entirely untouched by prejudice, but tradition acts as a restraint keeping even the weak and foolish from the worst excesses. What the more reasonable among us most fear is a leader or leaders springing up outside the court, among the common people, who will deliberately fan the flames of hatred to fuel his or her own rise. Should that happen, the Court, or persons connected with it, may need to call upon your services."

"Should that happen, we will be ready. For the honor of the Dread Lord and in memory of the Dragonborn, who spent her life building for the sake of all, not tearing apart for selfish gain."

The Bosmer woman stood up, followed by the other six. I took this as a sign that the interview was over, and rose myself, even though I had no idea where to go.

"Your escort will see you out," she said. "Of course, there is your departure to arrange. You must be hungry by now, and your escort will be taking you to a dining room where you can satisfy yourself. The food is excellent quality, but it does have the intentional side-effect of making you rather sleepy. You will be taken back to your chamber for a nap, and when you awaken, it will be back in your room at the Frozen Hearth. The staff there believe you are indisposed and have been keeping to your bed for the last few days, tended by a Breton leech – one of our people, incidentally; he will have a message for you before departing. As for the rest, you have seen nothing that can endanger our security here, but I would still ask that you use discretion in describing our conversation today and the circumstances surrounding it."

"No problem there," I replied. "I have sufficient credibility with the Synod to attribute some of my material to unnamed sources, without them thinking that I made it up."

"Excellent. By the way," she added, "just to satisfy any curiosity that you may have, the Dragonborn dagger is not likely to be used in any of our 'professional engagements.' We have enough sharp knives already. The Brotherhood wants it for the same reason it fascinates you: there is some echo of the Dragonborn still in it, a potent symbol. We may be facing great challenges in the near future. Already, some of our members cannot leave the sanctuaries except under cover of night, because their race would immediately attract unwanted attention, and probably provoke an attack. This being the case, I hope you do not grudge us what inspiration we can find in a relic of the master who once before led us back from the brink of ruin."

-o-o-o-

When I awoke after my meal, I was back in the Frozen Hearth, just as I had been told I would be. The Breton leech who had been pretending to treat me during my absence quickly filled me in on the symptoms I was supposed to have had and the progression of my imaginary complaint, so that no inconsistencies would be noticed by the innkeeper and his staff. I had often wondered how the Brotherhood managed to pull off their trademark substitutions and disappearances. Now I found that the main part of their secret was an obsessive attention to detail, a meticulousness that left as little as possible to chance. The Breton – he never disclosed his name – spent the better part of a morning drilling me on the symptoms and progress of my "illness," until I could reminisce about it in perfect detail. Not that I would be facing interrogation, but just in case anyone got curious. It was tedious, but I could appreciate what he was trying to do, and why, and so I played along as best I could.

It was fortunate that I did, because it became evident later that a second, undisclosed aim of this procedure was to discover if I had the caution, patience, and willingness to obey instructions that were necessary if I was to be trusted in the future. Having satisfied himself on that score, the Breton asked me whether I wished to "maintain a relationship" with the Brotherhood as an associate member. The "relationship" that they had in mind was chiefly an exchange of information – "We won't be asking you to assassinate anyone," the Breton said with a sardonic grin. It meant passing on any news that I thought might be relevant, and receiving news in return, by means of occasional face to face meetings. At most, I might be asked to keep an eye out for material on certain topics, but the collection of that information could be entirely passive. Or I could use my own initiative, if I wished. "We won't be asking you to dig through anyone else's desk either," as the Breton put it, "though we won't break down in tears if you do."

Although the Synod would never have given formal consent to such an arrangement, I decided to accept the offer – as a private initiative, so to speak. It could do no harm, and besides, I was curious as to how the Brotherhood's Sithis worship and equality-in-death ideology was going to fare against the steadily increasing racism of Tamriel society, especially in small towns and the countryside, away from the main urban centers. It would also provide me with a reliable way to contact the Brotherhood if some rabble-rousing bigot made a bit for power. The more I thought about it, the more that contingency seemed likely, sooner or later, but with the help of the Brotherhood, we could end the career of any two-bit demagogue quickly and permanently. A frightening possibility in a way – it was childishly easy to see how it could be misused – but, given the circumstances, a necessary one for us to have in our arsenal, an evil means to a good end.

"How am I to know your people if I have never met them?" I asked the Breton. His response was to give me a small amulet on a chain, to be worn around the neck. It was a seven-pointed star crafted from a pale gold metal, with a small ruby at its center.

"They'll know you. It might be a different person every time, so you won't be able to recognize them until they contact you."

I was dubious. "Rather an obvious way to identify each other, isn't it? I've never seen anything quite like this before. It would be no trick at all for a guard, or even a passer-by, to remember it."

"The memory would be no use to them," the Breton replied, smiling. "This is the only token in circulation made to this pattern. There's no second token to associate it with. We aren't quite so stupid as to hang the skull of Sithis around the necks of all our people and expect the authorities not to start wondering. Each token is crafted with a certain predetermined selection of material, decoration, shape, and size. Some are necklaces, some bracelets, some rings, and some even buttons or shoe-buckles. It's the particular combination of features that identifies it as authentic. This same star, with an emerald set in it instead of a ruby, or with eight points instead of seven, or made from white gold instead of electrum, would be immediately recognizable as fake. However, a smaller, gold one with eight points and an emerald, worn as an ear-ring, _might_ be authentic, if this combination of features were one of those that are allowable. No combination is ever used more than once. That's how we manage it so that no two tokens are alike, but authentic ones are easily identified and cross-referenced with their owners."

"By you, perhaps. Not by me, I'm afraid."

"That's not necessarily a disadvantage. You'll be introduced to anyone that you have to work with directly. Keeping your circle of acquaintances small makes things safer both for you and for full members of the Brotherhood."

He smiled one last time, and rose to leave.

"See you in the Imperial City," he said. "Or perhaps never again until we meet before the throne of Sithis, after both of us enjoy a peaceful death in extreme old age, I trust. And welcome to the ranks of the equal. We've had an eye on you for a long time. You ask good questions, even though you don't always answer them correctly. But none of us is perfect. Farewell."

After he left, I sat for a long time, wondering. Not so much about what I had gotten myself into, or why, but how. The last thing I had expected when I accepted this assignment was that a routine research trip to gather information about a long-dead notable would end up with me joining the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood. But here I was, with their token around my neck. Exciting, in a way, but still very, very odd.

As I thought the whole affair over, I realized that the Brotherhood, like the Dragonborn blade it had craved, was a reflection, or extension, of the Dragonborn herself and all her contradictions. She had seen to that herself when she rewrote their creed. She had turned the Brotherhood into one more instrument to do evil that good might come, and crafted an ideology to protect it, as much as possible, from corruption by that evil. An ideology directed primarily against the greatest dangers to Imperial unity and the peace of Tamriel, nativism and racism, though these threats were largely nascent in her day. Embodied in the Brotherhood, she still worked against them in the present, though she herself was long gone from the world of daylight.

And then I suddenly remembered Serana's warning that the Dragonborn might be able to enthrall me from beyond the grave. Serana had no doubt been thinking of the same sort of bond that she herself had with the Dragonborn, a love or affection or obsession that would make it difficult to maintain any sort of objectivity in my research. I had resisted that, for the most part, but here I was anyway, absorbed by her at second hand, servant to her needs and desires almost in spite of myself. It was impressive. And somewhat worrisome. I found myself wondering what she had in store for me next. Not only wondering, I noticed with a sort of wry amusement, but also looking forward to whatever it might be. Say what you will, nothing about her had ever been boring.

Serana had been right. I thought briefly of looking her up when I was back in the Imperial City, to congratulate her on her foresight, but it was probably unnecessary. After all, she too was busy in service to another aspect of the Dragonborn's ideal of unity and harmony.

I stood up, and began packing for my next journey, a brief visit to Whiterun to see if there was anything I had missed there, and then a final stay in Riften, where I planned to write a draft of my report. After that, I would be going back to Cyrodiil, the everyday routine of the Synod, and my new duties as an ear for the Brotherhood. The delay in Winterhold had used up several days that I might have spent otherwise, so I moved with haste. It was time to be about my master's business.


End file.
